Brook pulled her BMW into the underground parking garage of her midtown apartment building.
Her shoulders ached with exhaustion.
She turned the steering wheel, preparing to back into her usual spot.
She slammed her foot on the brake pedal so hard the tires screeched against the concrete.
A heavy metal sign was bolted directly into the center of her parking space.
It read: Vaughn Capital Reserved. Unauthorized Vehicles Will Be Towed.
Right next to the sign sat a brand-new, silver Aston Martin, taking up the space she paid for.
Brook's hands started shaking with rage.
This was Damon's pathetic, aggressive way of punishing her for the lie she told that morning.
She threw the car into drive and parked in a dark visitor spot at the far end of the garage.
She stomped toward the elevator, her heels clicking angrily against the floor.
The elevator doors opened on her floor.
She stepped out and immediately saw a black velvet garment bag hanging from the handle of her apartment door.
Brook assumed it was another sick gift from Damon.
She reached out to rip it off the handle and throw it down the trash chute.
Her phone started ringing loudly in her purse.
The caller ID showed her mother, Helen Moore.
Brook answered the call, her voice still tight with anger.
Helen did not say hello.
Put on the Dior dress hanging on your door immediately.
Her mother's voice was a sharp, commanding whip.
Brook froze, her hand hovering over the velvet bag.
What are you talking about.
Helen let out a dry, calculating laugh.
I am not letting Bernard parade his new family around at that gala tomorrow without a fight.
Helen explained that she had pulled massive strings to get Brook a seat at a highly exclusive matchmaking dinner tonight.
She was set up with Dr. Julian Croft, the heir to New York's most prestigious medical family.
Brook felt the blood drain from her face.
The room spun slightly.
The lie she had thrown at Damon this morning to piss him off had just become a terrifying reality. Brook felt a wave of cosmic absurdity wash over her. The very lie she had crafted to wound Damon had, by some cruel twist of fate, been made real by her own mother. It was not just a trap; it was a sick joke, and she was the punchline, standing alone in her dim hallway.
I am not going. I am not a pawn for your divorce wars.
Brook snapped, her stomach churning with anxiety.
Helen did not miss a beat.
If you do not walk into that restaurant tonight, I will pull every cent of shadow funding from your tech incubator tomorrow morning.
Brook clamped her teeth together.
She knew her mother was a ruthless tech titan who never made empty threats.
Her startup would die in a day.
Fine.
Brook whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth.
She hung up the phone, ripped the garment bag off the door handle, and walked inside.
At that exact moment, in the penthouse office of Vaughn Capital, Damon was staring at M. Black.
M. Black handed over a printed guest list for a private room at a three-star Michelin restaurant.
Brook's name was printed clearly next to Julian Croft's.
The heavy crystal glass in Damon's hand cracked under the pressure of his grip.
Amber whiskey spilled over his fingers and dripped onto the expensive rug.
He had thought she was just lying to hurt him.
He never imagined she was actually going to sit across from another man.
Get the car ready. Cancel every video conference I have tonight.
Damon ordered, his voice dangerously quiet.
Back in her apartment, Brook pulled the black Dior gown over her head.
The deep V-neck cut low against her chest, the fabric clinging tight to her waist.
She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a wave of disgust.
She applied a dark, aggressive red lipstick and pulled her hair up.
She built a wall of cold indifference over her features.
At seven o'clock, Brook walked out of the lobby doors, her red-soled heels clicking on the pavement.
She pulled out her phone to call an Uber.
A massive, black bulletproof SUV rolled silently to a stop right in front of her.
The heavy tinted window in the back rolled down slowly.
Damon's face appeared in the shadows of the backseat.
His eyes were completely black, sweeping over the exposed skin of her chest and neck.
Get in. I am taking you.
His voice was a rough, gravelly demand that sent a violent shiver down her spine.
